


Love Potion Number Nine

by dragon_temeraire



Series: Teen Wolf Bingo [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Deputy Stiles Stilinski, Fluff, Future Fic, Love Confessions, Love Potion/Spell, M/M, Pining, a few years later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 07:11:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6228757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragon_temeraire/pseuds/dragon_temeraire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek decides to take a love potion, but things don’t go quite the way he intended.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Potion Number Nine

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Teen Wolf Bingo (“Stiles/Derek”). Loosely based on the song by the same name.

_But when I kissed a cop_  
_Down on 34th and Vine_  
_He broke my little bottle of_  
_Love Potion Number Nine…_

 

“Deputy Stilinski,” he hears over the radio. “We have reports of what appears to be a drunk and disorderly accosting people on the sidewalk.” Stiles looks up from the ticket he’s writing. It figures, on the one day he’s assigned as the downtown traffic cop. “He’s near your location,” dispatch continues, giving him pertinent information. 

“Okay, I’ll intercept,” he says, ripping the ticket from the pad and tucking it under some poor fool’s windshield wiper. Shouldn’t have illegally parked, buddy.

Dispatch is right, the man isn’t far away. It looks like he’s been traveling in Stiles’ direction, which makes this even more convenient. Once he turns the corner of the main street, the man is clearly visible, mostly because everyone is giving him a wide berth. Stiles can’t blame them, he’s staggering pretty badly, head dropped low. He stumbles suddenly toward other pedestrians, but doesn’t pursue when they hurry away. 

Stiles approaches cautiously, while desperately hoping this guy isn’t an angry drunk. He looks built. Stiles does not feel like getting punched in the face today. He’s got one hand on hand on his Taser and is actively planning evasive maneuvers, so he’s taken entirely by surprise when the guy finally looks up at him. “ _Derek?_ ” he says, disbelieving. 

He doesn’t look well. His pupils are dilated, his skin is pale, and his expression is strangely blank. He’s very unsteady on his feet, swaying even as he stands there, but Stiles is pretty sure he’s not drunk. Derek is likely being affected by some kind of supernatural malady. 

He inches closer, and Stiles automatically sniffs for alcohol. There isn’t any, of course. He waits, hoping Derek will say something, will give him some sort of clue. 

Instead, Derek grabs his shoulders and pulls him in closer. Before he realizes what’s happening, Derek is dipping his head and pressing his lips firmly against Stiles’.

Startled, his hands curl in the front of Derek’s jacket, supporting him, but also ready to gently push him away. As he does, something slips out of the front pocket and smashes to the ground. It’s a little glass bottle, filled with some viscous black liquid. 

An instant after the vial hits the sidewalk, Derek’s eyes are rolling back in his head, and he collapses on the ground next to it. 

Stunned, Stiles brushes his fingers against his lips as he stares at Derek’s unconscious form. “What the fuck just happened?” he hears himself say.

 

*

 

After Derek had fainted, Stiles had checked his vitals and tried to revive him. Having no luck, and seeing that he was attracting quite the crowd of bystanders, he had managed to hoist Derek’s heavy form into the back seat of his squad car. He’d then called it in to his father, stressing that it was a _special situation_ , and he was handling it, but wouldn’t be back to the station for the rest of his shift.

His dad had agreed, after the obligatory ‘be careful’ speech. He might have put Stiles on traffic duty as punishment, but he understood the importance of solving supernatural issues early on. 

So he’d driven Derek to his house, because god help him, he was going to get some answers. He’d dragged his still-unconscious body through the doorway and onto his couch. If he’d bumped Derek’s head against the wall on the way, well, no one needed to know. He’d be fine.

He’s sitting on the coffee table, trying to decide if he should arrange Derek in a more comfortable position, when he finally begins to stir. He rubs his hands across his face, groaning, and blinks blearily at Stiles. He still looks a little disoriented. “What happened?” he asks, voice raspy.

In answer, Stiles holds up the evidence bag filled with glass shards and as much of the black liquid as he could scoop up. Best not to leave possibly-magical things lying around. He shakes it a little. “This ringing any bells?”

“Shit.” Derek covers his eyes and looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“Do you remember what happened?” Stiles ventures.

Derek huffs out a sigh. “I made a mistake.”

“A mistake that caused you to accost random people on the street,” Stiles blurts out, bewildered. 

He’d taken the eyewitness accounts before he’d carted Derek away. He’d apparently cut a wide swath down the street, grabbing everyone he came across and kissing them. Or, at least trying to. Thankfully, he hadn’t pursued anyone who got away. Stiles figured that was the reason no one wanted to press charges. 

Derek continues to lay there, looking despondent, so he tries again. “Were you cursed? What is this stuff?”

“It’s a love potion,” Derek says, still hiding behind his hands.

Stiles blinks, waiting for the punchline. It never comes. “Wait, really?” He pulls open the bag and peers intently at its contents. “Hold on. I thought love potions were supposed to look nice.” The acrid odor of the potion is filling the room, so Stiles seals it back up. “This one looks nasty, and it smells even worse.”

“Well, it was made specifically for me,” Derek says dryly, finally meeting his eyes.

“Oh,” Stiles says awkwardly. He soldiers on. “Who made it for you? And why’d you need a love potion, anyway?” He tries not to put an emphasis on ‘you’, but it comes out anyway. Seriously, the last person he would ever expect to use a love potion is Derek Hale. He’s mostly kept to himself since returning to Beacon Hills, but Stiles still feels like at least half the town could fall in love with him, given the chance. He’s just that great. 

Stiles may be a little biased, though.

Derek kneads his temples for a moment. He’s still pale, and he looks exhausted. “I got it from a witch that lives in one of the apartment complexes downtown.” The vague answer means Derek doesn’t want him to try and find her. “I picked which potion I wanted, and she mixed it up right then. I took it as soon as I left.” He shrugs. “I guess it didn’t work like it was supposed to.”

“Um, no. Unless it was intended to make you look like the town drunk. What was it actually supposed to do?”

“It was supposed to reveal if someone is in love with me,” Derek says tiredly. “It was supposed to lead me to them, and it was supposed to be subtle.”

For a moment, Stiles can only hopelessly stare. “You might want to get your money back,” he blurts. “I didn’t think you were interested in romantic relationships, actually.” Derek hadn’t dated anyone since he’d come back, so Stiles had sort of figured he’d be a lone wolf forever. 

“There’s someone in particular,” Derek says quietly. “But I don’t think he’s interested in me.”

Stiles feels his heart jerk in his chest, and hopes Derek is too out of it to notice. “So you took the potion to find out,” he mumbles to himself.

“Yeah,” Derek says, looking embarrassed. “At the time, it seemed like the safest way.” He clears his throat. “I didn’t want to ruin our friendship if he didn’t feel the same.”

Stiles desperately wants to ask who it is, but fights back the urge. This is awkward enough without him getting jealous of Derek’s love. “Maybe the potion wasn’t intended for werewolves?” he asks instead.

“No,” Derek says. “It came out of the werewolf spell book, it should have worked.”

Stiles boggles at him. “I can’t tell if you’re messing with me or not.” He sets the evidence bag down on the coffee table, the glass shards quietly clinking together. “I think you’re lucky you didn’t die from drinking this.”

Derek huffs out a laugh. “I don’t really feel lucky.”

“You’re okay, though. That’s what matters.” He pats Derek’s shoulder consolingly. “We’ve all done foolish things for love. Myself especially. You just have to figure out a new approach.” He stands up, stretching. “You look exhausted. Why don’t you rest here? You can head home once you feel better.”

Derek’s eyes are closing before he even finishes his sentence. Stiles pulls the blanket down from the back of the couch and gently drapes it over him. He closes the blinds, and leaves a bottle of water next to Derek’s hand.

He sleeps there the rest of the afternoon, through the night, and into the next morning. Before Stiles leaves for work, he makes sure Derek is still tucked in and comfortable. He grabs a fresh bottle of water to replace the now-empty one. He tries not to think about how nice it feels to have Derek here, in his home. 

Standing over him, he finds he can’t resist combing his fingers through Derek’s soft hair, savoring the quiet happiness he feels. He guiltily pulls his hand away when Derek begins to stir.

He’s almost out the door when he decides to leave a note. _Left for work, call me if you need anything_ , he writes, laying it on the coffee table. He almost signs it _Love, Stiles_ , but comes to his senses in time.

 

*

 

When Stiles comes home from his shift the note is still on the table, but there’s no Derek in sight. He picks it up and finds that Derek has written on the back: _Please come over for dinner at 7_.

He automatically glances at his watch. Just after six, he’s got plenty of time. He’d stayed late at the station briefing his dad on the situation, with as few incriminating details as possible. Mostly he’d reassured the Sherriff that everything had been resolved, and that Derek was going to be fine. 

He’d had his worries, when Derek had slept so long. He really wants to test the potion, maybe take some to Deaton and see what he thinks of it. But he needs to ask for Derek’s permission first. Conveniently, he can do so at dinner tonight.

He takes a quick shower and throws on some clean clothes, then makes the short drive to Derek’s place. He feels a little smile on his face when he pulls up in front. It’s been a long time since he’s hung out at the loft, and honestly, he’s missed it. Missed Derek, even though he’s been back here for months now. 

He trots up the stairs and gives a light courtesy knock. Derek will know he’s out here anyway. He rocks back on his heels, waiting patiently. Seconds later the door slides open, revealing a casually dressed Derek. There’s a smile on his face, and it’s enough to make Stiles’ heart speed up.

“Hey, man,” he says cheerfully, stepping inside. “You’re looking a lot better.” It’s true. The paleness is gone, and his eyes are bright. He really looks great. Stiles tries not to stare. 

“Yeah,” Derek says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I feel a lot better.”

He stands there, waiting to see if Derek’s going to elaborate, but he doesn’t. The silence is getting to be a little much for Stiles’ nerves, so he forges on. “Whatever you’re making smells really good,” he says, smiling.

“Oh!” Derek says, as though Stiles has reminded him. “I need to go check on our dinner,” he says, hurrying to the kitchen.

Well, that was a little awkward. He stares after Derek’s retreating back, then around the near-empty loft. He thinks about the people Derek knows, the friends he has. Wonders how many have been here, waiting while Derek cooks them dinner. Not many, he’s sure. 

It hits him in the gut like a sucker-punch; how lonely Derek must be. How desperate he was to find out if someone loved him. Stiles feels his heart clench, fervently hopes that whoever Derek loves will love him back. 

“Stiles?” He hears Derek call. He pulls his gaze away from the wall of windows and back toward the kitchen, where Derek is setting food on the table. “Hey,” he says softly, as Stiles is pulling out a chair. “I wanted to apologize.”

“For what?” Stiles says cheerfully. Food always puts him in a good mood. “For causing a public disturbance? For passing out on my couch? For-”

“For kissing you,” Derek cuts in hastily.

“Oh,” Stiles says, suddenly at a loss for words. He’d somehow managed to put that part of the incident out of his mind. But now that he’s here, staring at Derek’s worried yet still attractive face, it’s all coming back. Oh god, Derek Hale kissed him. 

“Um, it’s fine,” he says, trying to be cool about this. Derek has enough things to feel bad about, Stiles doesn’t need to add any guilt to it. “You were under the influence and everything, I get it.” _I’m still glad it was me you kissed_ his traitor brain whispers.

Derek gives him an intent stare, still looking concerned. He finally nods, and begins portioning out the spaghetti and meatballs. Stiles heaves a quiet sigh of relief. 

They eat, and once Stiles breaks the silence to talk about the woes of working as traffic cop, the atmosphere gets more relaxed. Derek just lets him ramble on, occasionally adding sly commentary, or communicating silently with his eyebrows in a way that Stiles finds compelling. Derek’s face is truly a gift. 

Everything is going really well. He’s managed to make Derek smile and laugh, and it’s been amazing. Then he happens to glance at his watch, and has to do a double-take when he sees what time it is. “Shit! I’ve got an early shift tomorrow, I’ve gotta get going,” he says apologetically.

“It’s okay,” Derek says. He walks with Stiles down the stairs, and then out to his jeep. “Thank you for everything,” he says, and the soft happiness in face makes Stiles’ heart feel too big for his body.

“Of course,” he manages to say. “Anytime.” He turns away before Derek can see his blush.

 

*

 

The next day, Stiles is once again waiting at Derek’s doorstep. He knocks expectantly, shifting the spiral notebook and the bag of Chinese takeout he’s carrying. He almost dropped it while coming up the stairs, so he’s justifiably concerned about losing his grip again. 

“I thought I’d bring dinner this time,” he says as Derek opens the door. 

Derek looks at him oddly. “It’s four-thirty in the afternoon.”

“Yeah, I know,” Stiles says easily. “I just got off work, and I wanted to catch you before you started cooking, or whatever. We can always warm it up later, if it’s too early for you.”

Derek rolls his eyes, but gestures him in anyway. Stiles strolls in, feeling at home. He puts the food on the table, and tosses the notebook down next to it. 

“Something from work?” Derek asks, pointing to it.

“Huh? No, it’s for us, so we can brainstorm. You know, make a plan,” Stiles says brightly.

Derek is starting to look wary. “A plan for what?”

“For you!” Stiles says, giving the notebook a friendly pat. It’s served him well through all these years. “I am well-versed in both one-sided pining _and_ waiting too long. Seriously, you should take advantage of my expertise.”

“You…want me to learn from your mistakes?”

“Well, yeah. If it’ll help you get your guy.” He points a finger firmly at Derek. “And because there will be no more love potions. Ever.”

Derek winces a little at that, but nods in agreement. “I’m not sure you can help, though.”

“Why not?” Stiles asks, laying on a little fake outrage.

“I don’t think he sees me in a romantic way. We’re friends now, but we don’t exactly have the best history, either.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s hopeless,” Stiles says, flipping to a blank page. He has relentless optimism when it comes to other people’s lives. “We’ll figure something out. At the very least I can set you up with a great five-year plan,” he says, winking. 

Seriously though, how many guys could Derek know? He’d be able to formulate this plan a lot better if he knew who’d caught Derek’s eye. Or maybe that information would just help him reformulate his own five-year plan. 

“The food’s getting cold,” Derek says pointedly, pulling a container of rice out of the bag.

“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles says dismissively. He knows a diversion tactic when he sees one. “Hey, I forgot to ask yesterday. Can I take some of the potion to Deaton? I’m wondering why it had such an odd effect on you.”

Derek shakes his head. “I’d rather you didn’t. I know the witch who made it didn’t have any ill intentions. She was actually doing me a favor,” Derek says firmly.

“Yeah, but don’t you want to know why it didn’t work?” Stiles asks. “And I gotta say, you’re lucky I grabbed your jacket. When the bottle fell out, the spell broke too. You’re welcome.”

Derek narrows his eyes, looking across the room. “That doesn’t make sense,” he mutters. “The spell wouldn’t be tied to the bottle, it’d be too fragile.” He swings his head back around, at looks at Stiles intently. “Did it happen at the same time?” he asks, louder.

“Did what happen at the same time?” Stiles asks, totally lost. Derek has the air of someone who’s solving a mystery.

“I kissed you, and the bottle broke at the same time. Didn’t it?” 

“Um, yeah? It was pretty close, at least,” Stiles says, bewildered. “Why?”

Derek’s eyes widen. “It was you. You broke the spell.”

“Yeah, I just said I—” He cuts himself off, stricken. “Oh, god. Derek, I’m so sorry.”

“For what?” he asks, coming around the table to stand next to Stiles.

“It was supposed to show you who was in love with you, right? That’s why it broke. I messed up your spell,” he says quietly. 

“What do you mean?” Derek asks, brows pulled down in confusion. “Stiles, are you in love with me?”

“Look, I know you’re in love with someone else,” Stiles says quickly. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. “It’s okay. This doesn’t have to change anything.”

“Someone else?” Derek says, surprised. “Stiles, it’s you. I’m in love with _you_.”

Stiles stands paralyzed with shock, feeling hope surge through him. It’s almost too good to be true. “You better not be joking,” he breathes, “because that would be really shitty.”

Derek leans close, meeting Stile’s eyes. “Does this feel like a joke to you?” he whispers, and kisses Stiles softly on the lips.

“Definitely not,” he says happily. Things are really looking up. He glances at the table full of cold Chinese food and grins. Sliding his hands along Derek’s waist, he leans in and kisses him again.

“I’m totally calling this our first date,” he says, laughing.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come by and prompt me/talk to me [ on tumblr ](http://dragon-temeraire.tumblr.com/).


End file.
